As I lay here, I pretend
it all ended happy in this age old narrative.
As I lay here, I imagine
a world with just the two of us, a twinkling melody.
As I lay here, I wish
we were always so closer, and nights weren't so colder
and it wasn't so gloomy, and we could step outside
and nothing was so gray,
and we would only see the blues and greens
As I lay here, I think
what if, time had a way of turning around,
and I could see you one last time,
turning around to see me..
As I lay here, I only think of you
and how far away you are and how I start measuring
distance across oceans on world maps,
pretending you're inches away from me..
imagining, you were right where I could see.
As I lay here, I weep..
in the dark, turning the night lamp on and off
realizing, it was all too good to be true and that
all good things don't last forever and
like a record that's ended, *our stories have too..

I've wrote enough about your eyes,
and how they mesmerize me,
how I try to look into them and read
everything you hold inside you
and how I never could.

I've wrote enough about your lips,
and how they whisper,
beautiful things,
how I need them close to mine
so they could cure my every illness.

I've wrote enough about your skin,
which I believed was carved by Angels
a perfect imperfection, (sort of)
the way you glow against the sun,
rejuvenates every part of me.

Now let me write about your freckles,
little stars they are,
how they make the universe feel so
adorable, beautiful..
making me find my universe in you.

Now let me write about your scars,
which have become every part of you.
But, they rhyme with me now,
they're a part of me now,
that's why I love them too.

Now let me write about your veins,
running down your neck
visible through your fading skin,
I could kiss you, and feel your heart beating
but I'll be the one who'll feel alive.

Let me write all about you,
Your chubby toes, your sleepy voice,
Your breathing, your gaze,
Everything I can touch, everything I can feel.
Let me try..
every detail, every tiny bit
Let me write..
All about you
yet still find
that endless poem,
incomplete.

An  attitude

Of  gratitude

Will  catapult  you  to  a  high  altitude

I'm a restless man
I am never
Still
I'm always spurred on
By some perverse
Will
The grass is never
Green
No peace here
To find
Some demon
Of motion's
At work within my
Mind
No bed is too soft
That I won't
Abandon
Its sweet calm
And comfort
For a softer
One
I'm a restless man
I am never
Still
I'm always spurred on
By some perverse will.